Of Doors, Chests, and Curtains
By Callum McLeod (Cai Mac/Ruphus)
William stood at the base of the big green circular door, pondering the whereabouts of its hinge. He theorised that the hinge had to be somewhere, or else what use was the door? But that in turn led him to ponder the use of any door. It was generally accepted that doors kept unwanted things out, and wanted things in. But upon scanning the vast, grey, hallway to his right and to his left, and upon seeing not only no one, but nothing, he theorised that the only use of the strange circular door was to contain something that he wanted. What did he want? A very good question William thought. Now all he needed was a very good answer to match. It was like his Sunday best, he reasoned. If he where to go to church dressed only in his home stitched shirt and tie, fashioned from the curtains once hanging in the old nursery, and presumably not anymore, it would certainly cause quite a hubbub. And linking back, it seemed obvious that if he did not find an answer to his question soon, it too would cause quite a hubbub.
William had been distracted, he had been thinking about something. The problem was, he had been thinking about a lot of things recently, so finding the thought he wanted was going to be a little harder. He turned the contents of his brain on to the navy carpet below him, each thought falling to the floor, a little less organised than it was in the safety of his head. It was like searching for his favourite toy back at the nursery, picking each one up in turn, deciding that it certainly was not the toy he needed, and discarding it back into the toy chest. He had sorted through all his thoughts, but could not find the toy he needed. He stood confused for a minute, twisting his hands around the insides of his pockets, just to make sure he hadn’t left it in there by mistake, amongst the lint. He slowly lifted his head, reaching the last logical conclusion, that it had fallen up, not down like all the other toys. And there it was. The door without a hinge. He decided to get back to the problem at hand, but first made a mental note that this toy fell up, as not to lose it again.
He scanned over the details of this door. The most striking feature which he had already noticed that it was circular, it was not something one missed, William thought. He had also noticed that it was green, a little less obvious, but he had still identified this. Now he was on to the realms of the new. The door was made of wood, but not panels, a singular block smoothed down to a fine finish. It must have been cut from one tree. William contemplated the size of such a tree, then decided that there want enough room for that toy in his chest, so quickly disposed of it. He stared intently at the knob, It was dull, and metal, and directly in the centre of the wood. That was why he did not notice it William theorised, he had been too bus looking at what made it circular, the edges. The knob was also circular, but this circle went backwards, as well as left and right. He wanted to touch it, but it was a few inches out of reach of his thin arms, even when he stood on his toes. That was strange; he could usually reach things when on his toes, that was what he liked about them. Deciding that touching it was imperative, William looked around the hallway for something a little lower that he could stand on, but as before it was empty. Maybe what the door was keeping in was something to stand on? All William could find was his toy chest full of thoughts, it would have to do.
Upon climbing upon the toy chest, William reached out for the handle that had been tempting him. First sliding his fingers up its dull surface, then his palm, he grasped at the cold metal. It was smooth, and did not want William holding it. It tried to slip away from his grip, not wanting to be opened it seemed, but William had caught it before it could make good its escape. He wondered why this doorknob did not like him, and if all doorknobs did not like him, but where simply too polite to say. He would have to find out and rectify this, but how to make amends with a doorknob? This was not important right now; there was little he could do until he was back at the nursery. William turned the handle anticlockwise, this seeming like the logical choice to open the door, and pulled. It was stuck. William could not tell what was blocking it, there was only him and his metaphorical toy chest, and neither tended to weigh much. William strained himself, pulling against the door. It did not want to move. William contemplated this, deciding that the door did not want to move because he was an unwanted thing being kept out. William found this very hurtful, and strained to think what he had done to become an unwanted thing. He had been perfectly polite, clearing up his toys after he had searched through them, his shoes where not dirty, as he had not been outside, and he was certainly not a thief, he had had no intention of steeling the wanted thing, it was more out of curiosity as to seeing what he could possibly want. This door was becoming more and more tiresome with each second he looked at it.
There William stood, his hands in his pockets, staring blankly at the door. He could not help feeling he had missed something. But what? The door had no key hole, no letter box, nor anything, except the circular metal knob, in the centre of the panel. William had never met such a troublesome door, nor did he wish to again. He stepped down off of his chest, and turned away from it. Maybe the door was playing a game? William liked games usually, but was unsure of the rules of this one, so found it a little confusing. He had no intention to leave, but the door did not know that. Nothing, the door had called his bluff, it was time to raise the stakes he thought. William took a step away, nothing, no sounds of creaked apologies, no clicking of tumblers calling for him to stop. Fine, William thought, he could play this game too, he was starting to get the rules. He took another step, nothing, another, nothing. He laid his metaphorical cards on the metaphorical table and walked right at the blank slate of grey of the opposite side of the corridor. His nose rubbed against matte paint, his breath heavy. The door was impossible, it was the most arrogant and stubborn door William had ever met and he decided that it should be told so. He twisted round on the spot, his tiny fingers clenched in annoyance. Then he stopped, facing the door, and blinked. The door was still there, as green, circular, hinge less and stubborn as ever, but next to it, past the edges that made it circular, was a small notice. The small plaque, white hidden against the matte grey of the walls, read as follows. “Please ring the bell once and enter”, and below it, a small, circular button, dull like the knob, sat waiting for its apology. And William was prompt to do so. It is always best to admit when one is wrong, William thought.
After the formalities had been reached, and William apologised, he pressed the buzzer and the door had decided to let bygones be bygones, apparently. William was grateful, thinking it to be not such a bad door after all, wishing it well as he stepped through into the light beyond the door. William weaved through a hole in some loosely hung sheets in front of him, holding the back of his hand to his face to protect his eyes from the blinding light. Being blinded was not what he wanted, but thought it too rude to mention it to the door. He turned to bid goodbye a final time, only to see a small patch of blank wall, framed by an illuminated loose hanging curtain, with a section cut out to make his Sunday best. William did not think he wanted the nursery, but thought it best to trust the doors judgment, and walked away, to find his very best toy.
